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invisibleraven · 1 year

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Phantom Carols

For the @jatp-adventevent prompt: What are their Christmas insecurities?

Day Twenty Three: You Make It Feel Like Christmas <-AO3!

Julie was not a fan of shopping for people. Mainly because she was a gift perfectionist. Each present had to be well thought out, and perfectly suited for the recipient.

This year was especially hard because she had four ghosts to shop for. Like, what do you even get for ghosts?

They could only be seen by people not connected to Julie while playing or at the Hollywood Ghost Club in Willie’s case, so gift cards to stores was out. See also anything to do with food, as all it did was remind them how much they missed eating.

She could get them music stuff, but after her dad found out about the guys, that was what he and tia had opted for, so that idea went nowhere. Ditto games because while they had permission to use Carlos’ systems they seemed to be happy enough playing his emulators of games from their childhoods.

She did up a scrapbook for the band, but she wanted something for each of them to unwrap on Christmas morning.

Which left clothes. Not the best gift, but it was one of the few options she had left.

Her dad had gotten the guys a cheap dresser to store stuff in, and they had more basics now, but their wardrobe was still limited. Julie took advantage of laundry day to peek at their sizes, and off to the stores she went.

Willie was easy; crop tops in funky patterns with equally funky socks. She scoured a few stores and found a good collection, and a truly awful ugly holiday sweater, just because she knew he’d get a kick out of it.

Alex liked shirts with 80’s pop idols and anything pink, though he had admitted that his fascination with the colour came from an incident with a red sock that ruined his whites. So for him, she gets him a pair of red socks, to be cheeky, and a few new shirts in soft pastel colours.

Luke was the easiest; cut offs, band tees, and hideaway socks. The problem was finding shirts of bands he liked that he didn’t already have. Thankfully she found a bunch of vintage Green Day and Nirvana shirts at a thrift store and bought those.

She left Reggie for last. Even though she had taken him shopping a few times, he just bought more of the same few staples; monochromatic shirts, ripped skinny jeans, and that was it. She had offered to get him a new flannel, since his was getting worn, or a bigger leather jacket as he had started outgrowing his before he died. But no dice.

Alex was the one who told her that Reggie’s MeeMaw had bought him the flannel for his last birthday, so there was no replacing that. And the guys had gotten him the jacket, and Reggie considered it his signature piece, refusing to give it up.

“It made the bullies stop picking on him, because he was putting out the tough exterior,” Alex admitted. “He got into a lot less scraps then.”

Julie wished she could have known the guys when they were alive, because the little snippets she got made her more and more convinced that they had badly needed friends outside each other, and a caring environment to grow up in. The best she could do now was give them as much love as she could, both her and her family.

That’s when she got an idea. She still got a few new staples plus some fun doggy socks for Reggie and headed off to home.

On Christmas Eve morning, she pulled the guys into the living room, and thrust a present at each of them. Each of them ripped open the packages, and Luke’s face struggled not to fall. “Oh. You got us socks?”

“Not only socks,” Julie said, giving them each a gift bag. On top were the clothes she picked out, but there on the bottom, she had given them each a set of…

“Pyjamas?” Alex asked.

“Every year, we Molinas get a set of matching holiday jammies,” Julie admitted. “This year… well you guys are my family too. Molina or not. So you get pyjamas too. To wear tomorrow morning for breakfast and stockings are the rest of the gifts.”

“Thank you Julie,” Reggie said, and she could see his eyes were a little glassy, and could hear a tiny sniffle in his voice. That was what made Julie sure she had made the right choice.

“Group hug?” Willie proposed.

Everyone nodded and agreed. Getting up in a large embrace, glowing as whatever magic Julie possessed thrummed through the air, letting them touch, letting the guys be more visible, more present… more alive. It came and went, but right now Julie was incredibly glad it worked, because if she wasn’t able to hug them right then, she would cry.

Okay, maybe she was crying anyways, but so were they, so no one said anything.

Happy tears could flow freely, especially at Christmas.

The next morning they all showed up in their pyjamas, grinning and bouncing, humming and singing as Ray snapped a family photo, and they finally were able to see them, not a bunch of orbs. Carlos thought it was lame, but Reggie timidly asked for a copy for the studio. “Our first family portrait.”

“I’d be happy to do that for you mijo,” Ray replied. And no one mentioned when the tears started anew, until it was time for stockings, and they disappeared. At least until the game of charades that afternoon anyway.

Though Julie was totally blaming that on how hard they were all laughing, and not how much they felt like a family for the first time in so long.

But she was totally keeping that photo for after they made it big and made their inevitable Christmas album.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #julie & her himbos #jatpadvent2022 #julie and the phantoms

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harrysweasleys · 3 years

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show and tell // g.w

summary: the four times george shows you he loves you before he says it for the first time.

warnings: injury, blood, broken bones, sickness, mentions of nudity and food

word count: 5k

a/n: this was so much fun to write!! i hope you all enjoy :) x

———————————————————————

one

It was mid-march and the spring sunshine felt as if it were everlasting. From the moment you woke up, to the late evening, the golden rays illuminated the fields around the Burrow and brought a sense of warmth and comfort. As if you were away from the rest of the world, practically untouched by civilization.

It was the epitome of peaceful.

Even in the peak of the afternoon, while Molly and Arthur bustled about the house, and while the gaggle of Weasley children decided to take advantage of the weather and challenge one another to a playful Quidditch game.

You weren’t really sure why they chose to call it playful, per say. They were all awfully competitive. Last week, Ginny was knocked off of her broom and into the pond. Luckily, she sustained no injuries, but it was still a rather intense sight. About a month back, Bill had decided to join, and had to use his wand to repair a black eye.

Safe to say, as you sat on a small lounge chair and watched over, that you were nervous. Your eyes felt as if they were locked on George’s every move. That if you looked away, he’d end up toppling to the ground in a mess of long limbs and ginger hair.

“You sure you don’t want to join?” Ginny called down to you, hovering a few feet away on her rather mangled broom that she most likely used in childhood before she got her much nicer one for the Gryffindor team.

You shook your head, squinting as you looked up, “I’ll pass. I’m much better as a spectator.”

She shrugged, her braid flipping over her shoulder as she took off back towards the make-shift pitch.

The game went as it always did — the same teams, the same keepers, the same chasers and beaters, and of course, Harry and Ginny as rival seekers. Nothing was really new there.

George looked rather at ease on his broom. It was a sight you loved to see. You knew that work stressed him out, that he was always trying to improve every aspect of his business and it was one of the things that swirled in his mind constantly. But seeing him here, in what appeared to be his element, brought a smile to your face.

Unfortunately, that smile was wiped off rather quickly when he collided with Ginny not even five minutes into the match. She ended up collecting her wits and balance, staying up in the air. George, however, did not.

Luckily for him, he was only a few feet off the ground. But the sickening crunch that he made when he landed flat on his face was the furthest thing from “lucky” that you could think of.

You shot up off of your chair in a panicked heartbeat, rushing over to where his body lay limp on the ground. You could feel your body grow warm in worry.

“George!” you crouched next to him and placed one of your hands on his forearm, “Georgie, are you okay?”

He let out a groan, rolling over onto his back. A stream of blood rushed down from his nose, which already looked off coloured and crooked. Broken, no doubt.

“Is it bad?” he asked, his eyes squinted shut.

You winced, trying to avoid looking at the damage on his face, “I’m really not the person to ask.”

He began to sit up, groaning a bit as he did so, and slowly opened his eyes. He brought one of his hands — one that was already covered in a mixture of dirt and sweat — and brought it to his face, wiping it across his mouth and chin.

As he pulled it away and spotted the crimson liquid on his fingertips, he let out a mutter of a curse.

“I’m bowing out of the match,” he called up to his siblings, all hovering nearby to see if he was alright, before pointing at his face, “I’m gonna go clean this up.”

His hair was matted down to his head from sweat, as well as his clothes practically clinging to his body, but you wasted no time in grabbing on to him to hoist him up. You weren’t overly familiar with injuries, since you were in no means a Healer, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to help.

“Let’s get you to the washroom,” you held his arm, leading him into the house and guiding him since his head was tilted back, pinching his nose to prevent any more bleeding.

On the way into the tiny washroom, you grabbed your wand that was sitting on the dining room table. Hermione had taught you the spell for repairing a broken nose, and though you’ve never performed it before, you had to give it a shot.

“I should be alright,” he muttered with his hand still pinched on his nose, his other free hand rummaging across the cluttered countertop to try and find the tissues.

You gently whacked his hand away, “Stop. Let me help.”

You began guiding him over to the edge of the countertop, bringing him closer until yourself pinned right between his body and the sink. So, you gave him a little shove, hopped up onto the cold tile, and brought him close. His body stood between your legs, your feet immediately wrapping around his torso so that he could stand still and close, enough so that you could try your best to fix the damage from his fall.

“If I wasn’t bleeding, I’d rather enjoy this position,” you could hear the handsome smirk in his voice, even as you grabbed a handful of tissues and placed them under the running water of the sink.

“Oh, shove it,” you chuckled, taking one of the wet tissues and turning to face him. He was still pinching his nose, but he was now facing you.

You began to dab at his chin, glad that the blood hadn’t had time to dry so it was rather easy to wipe off. He didn’t wince, but then again, you imagined a majority of the pain was probably in his nose. George had a high tolerance for pain, which was something that was probably built up after years of testing products on himself. Especially those damn nosebleed nougats.

“Oh, wait, I’m an idiot,” you scoffed, pressing the tissue to his face with one hand as you reached for your wand with the other, “Let me fix your nose first.”

His eyes widened at the sight of the wand in your hand, and he shuffled back a few inches, “Merlin, are you sure? You’ve never fixed a nose before.”

You tossed the used tissue into the bin before grabbing another one, this time holding it right against his nostrils, “Just let me do this. It’s one spell, how hard can it be?”

The hesitation flashed through his eyes before he slowly nodded his head, “Fine, fine, I trust you.”

Through the nervous beating of your heart, you managed to smile. Those three words caused all of your unease to drift away, your focus landing solely on the one word you had to mutter.

He took a step back, this time in confidence.

Instead of making the poor man wait in pain while you went over the consequences in your head, you lifted your wand and spoke, “Episkey.”

The crunch was quiet, but George’s eyes shot open and he bit down on his lower lip, a muffled shout of pain getting stuck in his throat as one of his hands grabbed your thigh, giving it a squeeze that was bound to leave a bruise.

“Oh, Merlin, are you okay?” you asked, tossing your wand aside and placing your hands on either side of his face. His cheeks were awfully warm despite how pale they had just become, and you felt the tenseness of his muscles as he stepped back between your open legs. His grip on your thigh didn’t lighten up, and you felt a surge of guilt bubble up into your belly.

“Georgie?” you asked more softly this time, one of your hands running through his sticky hair, “Did I make it worse?”

He shook his head, not exactly speaking, but giving you the answer you needed, “‘s fine.”

You gave a small pout, taking your hands away from him to avoid causing overstimulation. Though, as soon as your hands left his skin, he put his own hands on yours and guided them back up into his hair.

You gave him a puzzled look as you began to run your fingers along his scalp again, but he quickly answered your silent question, “Feels nice.”

His smirk returned to his lips and you rolled your eyes, immediately realizing you fell into his trap, “Oh, you little git. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

His laughter echoed in the small bathroom and managed to ease all of the worry and panic that was swarming through your mind, “No, it does hurt, but it’s not that bad. I do really like you playing nurse though, love. I should fall off my broom more often, yeah?”

You tossed a tissue at him, your own laughter bubbling in your chest, “Don’t you dare think about it, Weasley.”

“C’mon, love,” he grinned, bringing his face closer to yours, only to have you push him away.

“We are cleaning up the mess that is your face before you kiss me,” you smirked, holding up another tissue. He rolled his eyes and let out a groan, but he let you continue dabbing at his skin until he was all cleaned up. His nose was left with some light bruising, but you barely even focused on that after his little painful performance he decided to put on.

It really was never a dull moment.

———————————————————————

two

George’s birthday came around way too quickly for your liking. You remembered New Years Eve as clearly as if it were yesterday, and now here you were, on April the first, knocking loudly at his door at nearly eight thirty in the morning.

It was still early in the day — you guys would be headed to the burrow for dinner with his family in the late afternoon — but you decided to pay him a little surprise and pop by his flat with a few gifts and sweets in the morning before being whisked away. You always enjoyed the private moments between the two of you, and this was no different.

His face appeared in the doorway mere seconds later, his hair sticking up in countless spots, and his baggy jammies hanging loosely around his body. His cheeks were flushed pink at the sight of you standing there; a bag of gifts in one hand and a plate with a tiny cupcake in the other, one little candle on the top with a flame that you had enchanted not to burn out until he made his wish.

“Happy birthday!” you grinned, flashing him your best smile despite the urge to laugh at his disheveled appearance. He seemed to have just gotten out of bed. You had spent the night with George before, usually if he had the next day off and the two of you could laze around in the morning, and there was one conclusion you could make from it.

George was not a morning person.

However, through his sleepy state, he shot you a bright smile, “Look at you, coming by to be my gift.”

You rolled your eyes as he moved aside, letting you walk into his flat, “I’m not the gift. But I do come bearing some.” You placed the bag on the floor and stuck out the plate, handing him the cupcake. His smile never faded as he took it from you, holding it in one hand and the other went to his chin, pretending to ponder.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes scanning over his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. He looked deep in thought.

“Gotta make a wish, right?” he replied, “Though, you’re all I could ever wish for and you’re right here.”

You felt an eruption of fluttering in your chest at his sweet words — he really was quite the flirt — but you brushed it aside and removed your coat, placing it on the hook behind you before turning back to him, “Make your wish, you idiot.”

He smirked, shooting you a cheeky wink before he closed his eyes and blew on the candle, the little flame dying down quickly.

“See?” you chuckled, now removing your shoes so you could properly enter the flat, “Was that so hard?”

He stuck out his tongue, one of his fingers dipping into the icing of the cupcake. You were too busy focusing on carrying the bag of gifts, however, that you hadn’t noticed his icing covered finger reaching in your direction. So, as you turned back to face him, it smeared across your cheek.

“That’s what you get for being mean on my birthday,” he raised an eyebrow, proceeding to walk over to the couch in the living room, your own footsteps following closely behind him. The icing was sticky against your skin, but you were too busy trying to get even to even bother wiping it off.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing the cupcake out of his grasp and holding it away from him, scooping up some of the icing and smearing it across his lips.

He looked quite amused, nodding his head slowly as he started licking his lips, “Nice try, love.”

“Oi, just shut up and sit down,” you scoffed, grabbing a tissue from the end table and wiping the icing off of your face, tossing the tissue in the bin before reaching over and grabbing a box out of the bag, “Now. Let me spoil you, yeah?”

You sat next to him on the couch and placed the box in his lap.

He leaned over and pressed his lips against your cheek, placing a delicate kiss before pulling away, “You already spoil me enough just being with me.”

You shook your head and let out a laugh, motioning your head in the direction of the box once again, before he finally proceeded to open it.

It didn’t take long for him to go through his gifts. Five boxes later, and he now had a few new things for around the house. Not that he needed appliances, really. He was a wizard. But he had mentioned to you a few times that he was starting to attempt doing a few things the “muggle way.”

“This is all brilliant,” he grinned, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side, “Thank you, love.”

You leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his jawline, not missing the way his body shivered at your touch. It brought you a sense of pride, honestly, the fact that you were able to have this affect on him.

“However, there is one more gift to open,” he said, sitting up from his spot on the couch so quickly it nearly knocked you backwards.

“There is?” you asked, peering around the flat to see if there was another parcel. Maybe Fred had stopped by to give his twin a gift before the party at the Burrow.

“Sit right here,” he held up one finger before bolting into the bedroom, disappearing from view for a few moments. Maybe his parents had dropped something off?

He came back into the living room, a box in his hands with big letters on the side that read Y/N. You furrowed your eyebrows as he placed it in your lap, a pleased grin on his face.

“What the bloody hell is this?” you asked, not even masking your confusion, “It’s your birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.”

He nodded, the smirk still on his lips, “Why, yes, I haven’t forgotten. But I figured for my birthday, what I want to do is spoil my girl.”

You shook your head, letting your head fall back onto the couch cushion — the couch that had once belonged to his brother Bill before he moved in with Fleur — and let out a laugh, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Just open it,” he placed a kiss on your temple, your heart in your chest feeling like it was about to burst.

You let out a breathy laugh and began to unwrap the box, opening it up to reveal a lumpy knitted sweater, the first letter of your name written out in the centre of it. It was perfect. Homely, and clearly made with love. You knew Molly knitted these for her children every year, but you didn’t expect to get one so soon, let alone ever.

“Oh, George. Your mum made me one?” you asked, voice filled with awe as you picked up the jumper, holding it against your chest as if you were hugging it. This honestly meant more to you than you could express.

“No,” he grinned, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck, “I actually made that. Mum taught me a few years back and I never thought it would come in handy, but here we are.”

Your eyes widened at his words, heart so full that you could barely find the words to reply. If you weren’t so shocked, you might find yourself word-vomiting a bunch of lovey dovey nonsense. But you couldn’t. You honestly couldn’t speak.

“You’re part of the family now,” he broke the silence, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and giving a small twirl, “I want you to know that.”

You felt an itchiness in the back of your throat and you knew your emotions would get the best of you, so instead of speaking up, you decided to toss your arms around his neck and hold him as close as possible, the new jumper squeezed between the two of you as if it were holding you together. Which, in a way, it was.

George really was amazing, and there was no doubt that you were starting to fall for him. But this gesture, this gift, was beyond that.

It showed you that maybe, possibly, he was the one.

———————————————————————

three

Two days after George’s birthday, which had been a long and tiring evening at the Burrow celebrating another year of Fred and George, you found yourself feeling a little under the weather.

It was most likely not from Molly’s meal assortment, but possibly from standing outside in the chilly weather to watch the fun little firework display the twins had decided to put on for themselves. Plus, you were pretty sure Charlie had shown up with a cold as well.

You had woken up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, your head unfortunately feeling quite congested as well. As if a throbbing migraine was bubbling just below the surface.

To simply put it, you were most likely coming down with said cold.

You had woken up in a rush, immediately reaching for the tissue box to clear your sinuses, but in the process of doing so, happened to wake up the ever-so-sleepy George next to you.

His arm retracted from around your waist and he rubbed his eyes with his hand, squinting to look over at you, “Are you okay?”

His voice was heavily laced with sleep and you felt bad for waking him up, but the gross feeling of sickness was a little too overbearing for you to really worry about disrupting his sleep schedule.

“Sorry, Georgie,” you replied, holding a tissue to your nose, “I think I stood a little too close to Charlie and he passed his germs onto me.”

George’s head fell back onto his pillow, “Git.” You let out a small laugh as he shoved the blanket off of his body and onto yours, all the warmth that his body produced now gone as he got out of bed. A whine left your throat and you reached out, trying to grab his hand and pull him back down.

He tossed on a shirt and turned to face you, “Be back in a second, love. Just gotta do something.”

A pout made its way onto your lips as he left the room, his disheveled morning hair disappearing through the bedroom door. You didn’t necessarily want to pass your possible sickness onto him — you’d only end up feeling guilty and responsible — but you already missed the comfort that he brought when he laid next to you. Even though he had been gone for a total of ten seconds.

You could hear noises as he rummaged through the kitchen, but you didn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. The throbbing in your head would make it hard for you to even have proper balance. You didn’t want to make it worse.

It didn’t take long for George to return, a small tray in his hands and a smile on his lips. You sat up properly, trying to get a peek as to what he had with him.

“For you, my princess,” he gave you a quick wink, placing the tray next to you on the bed.

Your heart swelled. He had brought you breakfast. A plate filled with fruits and a cup of tea sat nearly on the tray, smelling and looking more delicious than ever. Maybe it was because of the thought and love he put into it, but you honestly couldn’t wait to dive in.

“You made me breakfast?” you asked softly, looking up at him as you moved the tray onto your lap.

“I did,” he slid back under the blankets next to you, one of his hands finding yours and giving it a light squeeze, “The tea will help soothe your throat and the vitamins in the fruits will help you feel better.”

The smile on your face was so wide, you swore it reaches your ears, “Georgie, this is so sweet.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m the best.”

You gave him a poke in the shoulder, laughing at his cockiness, “That you are. That you are.”

———————————————————————

four

Unfortunately, George had caught your cold. And he loved to complain about it. Every second he could possibly find to bring it up, he would. Not to blame you, of course, but to milk it as much as possible so that you could take care of him.

Not that you could do much, really, since you were still nursing your own annoying sickness. But you did try to help as much as you could. You’d made a soup, he’d make the tea. It was a compromise that helped the both of you.

However, one afternoon, when the two of you started to feel better, George had decided to take matters into his own hands and bring a little life back to the flat.

“Dance with me,” he spoke out of the blue, coming up to you on the couch where you were currently quite content reading away.

“What?” you placed your bookmark in your page, placing the book onto the cushion next to you, “Now?”

He nodded, picking his wand up off of the end table and pointing it in the direction of the little radio by the window. An old tune — one that sounded a lot like the song that played at the Yule Ball, funnily enough — started playing throughout the room.

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving your lips as you placed your hand in his, “Since when are you a dancer, George Weasley?”

“For you, always,” he smirked, leading you to the open area of the room, one of his hands immediately finding your lower back. You felt your chest grow fluttery at his touch, every previous thought leaving your body as you melted into him.

Your hand linked in his, the other one resting against his shoulder. His eyes found yours and he gave you a genuine smile. Nothing cocky or teasing. Just a real, fond smile.

“What’s this for, then?” you found your voice, the two of you moving in slow circles around the small space.

It wasn’t much, and neither of you were good at it, but it was romantic. You hadn’t even noticed that George had used his wand to light a few candles, the light of the flames dancing against the walls.

“What?” he asked with a slight upturn of his chin, “Can’t a bloke just dance with his girl?”

You ignored the feeling of your heart swelling and gave him a grin, “Yes, actually. I think he can.”

The music was soft, but it was enough to really set the mood. As if you were a princess dancing with her prince, the world disappearing around the both of you and leaving you alone to dance under the moonlight. Or, really, the two of you alone in a small London flat. But a girl can dream, right?

George’s chest was warm as you pressed your forehead against it, revelling in this feeling of privacy and intimacy. You felt untouchable.

“You’re really special, you know that?” his voice was soft, mouth close to your ear as he mumbled the words.

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There was something in his eyes — love, pride, admiration, or something similar — and you really did feel like you were all he could see. Like he had eyes only for you.

“Could say the same about you,” your voice matched his in softness, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips.

He beat you to the action, though, as he tilted his head down and closed the space between the two of you, warm lips pressed softly against yours. A million different feelings bubbled in the pit of your belly and you swore you would crack under the heavy blissful peace that soared through you.

You loved him.

There was no way you could deny it.

Especially as the two of you stood there; lips moulded together as if they were meant to be, your bodies pressed against one another, and an unspoken mutual feeling of adoration passing between you two.

You really did love him. And you hoped he loved you back.

———————————————————————

one

The water of the bath was awfully warm. Perfect to contrast the gloomy grey skies and heavy raindrops that came down loudly against the window. For nearly mid-April, the weather was still awfully dreary.

George’s fingers traced up and down your arms, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake despite the warmth of the bath water. It was warm enough to cause light steam to build on the mirror, and for the two glasses on the edge of the tub to build condensation, but not warm enough to deter your body’s natural reaction to George.

Your head was resting against his chest, one of his hands against your skin and the other in your wet hair — which much to your dismay, was let down from the ponytail in which it was previously in. George’s orders, of course.

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, his head leaned back against the tub, his own hair sticking up in spikes after he dipped his head under water, “So do I, actually.”

“It’s the soap, you goon,” you giggled, “That’s what soap does.”

“Goon?” he lifted his head, causing you to turn around and face him, your own body still resting against his, the feeling of his bare skin against yours causing a warmth to spread in your chest.

“You’re a cute goon, though,” you winked, lifting one of your hands to flatten down his hair, “So it’s fine.”

He nodded, “Right. You’re lucky I love you.”

Not only did it feel like time stood still, but it felt like the both of you did too. The water went silent at the lack of movement, and the eye contact between the both of you felt so prolonged that neither of you could blink.

Did he just say what you thought he said?

You knew, undoubtedly, that you had fallen head over feels for the ginger boy in front of you. He was the perfect partner in every sense of the word, really. He was caring, he was gentle, he was exciting, and he loved you.

“You love me?” your voice felt as if it were bound to crack. You didn’t want to move or sit up, too afraid to disturb the moment. To break the connection that had been built with those three words.

It was as if he himself wasn’t sure he had said them, but by the light smile that graced his gorgeous freckled face, you could tell he meant it.

“Yeah, I do,” he nodded, “I dunno why it took me so bloody long to say it. But yes, I love you.”

A weight felt like it had been lifted off of your shoulders at the confession, a wave of powerful emotions threatening to smother you in replacement.

“I love you too,” you didn’t even hesitate to say the words as you were so utterly sure of them.

The tips of his ears turned a light shade of pink as his smile grew, lopsided and genuine, “That’s good, then.”

It was nearly impossible to hide your pure thrill, arms finding their way around his neck in an instant. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his right back around you, holding your body against his as if he were too bloody pleased to let go.

“I love you,” he said again, so softly you barely even registered. If you were an inch further away, you might not have even heard it.

You placed a light kiss on the underside of his jaw, once again relishing in the pride that blossomed at his involuntary shiver, “I love you too, Georgie.”

And Godric, did you ever.

———

#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader

737 notes · View notes

sdv-mostly-shane · 3 years

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Hello! January is birthday month for my children, and now that we got the last one down, time to get right back in ~ In the spirit of parenthood, here’s some Stardew Parent Headcannons of all the marriage candidates -

Stardew Valley Imagines : Parent Headcannons

Bachelors

Alex

The kind of dad to be at every appointment/interview/inspection and cry at every point of progress “we’re one step closer to our beautiful baby”

Will absolutely cry once he holds that baby, and will have a hard time letting them go to his partner

Baby wearing extraordinaire- has multiple options for different occasions

Matching track suits to hide the fact that they were both a hot mess that morning trying to get out the door, but they did it, so time to celebrate

Would ironically have a brainiac child that he is absolutely enamoured with and admires - he sits at their little table, spilling out of the tiny chair, but refuses to budge because his baby is telling him about the water cycle of the Earth, and he doesn’t want to miss a thing

Elliot

A very ‘hands off’ parent - will observe them at play and not pressure them in any particular way

Probably a Waldorf dad

Sits his babies in his lap every night to read- they are the first ones he tests out a new limerick on, and respects their criticisms as much as their praise

Lots of evening walks down the sea shore and the forest edge.

Out of the bachelors, I think would be the most sensitive/attune to them, and would be great at breaking down their complex emotions and thoughts, and would especially be so with any neurodivergent children.

Harvey

The type to plop down a stack of parenting and pediatric books on the dining room table as soon as you two have decided to welcome children into your lives

Is the one to show the farmer how to change a diaper

In fact, just count Harvey as the one to be the party planning, baby book filling, milestone documenting professional. He’s got it covered.

Loves the newborn stage, is terrified of toddlerhood, but then back in control once they’re like 6. And then terrified again once they are teenagers (his kids actually consider him a friend as well as a father and actually enjoy hanging out with him (sometimes))

100% a helicopter parent, but more so the ‘I love you so much I don’t want you to ever experience any pain’ type of way

Sam

Probably has an accidental love child at one point

You can find him in bed with the baby, singing songs together, while he spikes the baby’s hair nice and tall

Do you honestly think this young man would not use every dad joke ever known? Because he would- and he would find them all absolutely hilarious

The fun dad that will also actively try to embarrass his kids in front of their friends

Keeps his kids home for “sick days” to sit on the couch together, no pants, no homework, and all laughter.

Sebastian

Would be stressed when they are newborns, but relax as they get older. By the time they’re teens, he would have cultivated a very trust and respect-based relationship with them where his kids are comfortable telling him anything

You’ll find him quietly at every event, game, recital, competition, imaginable. Supporting his children with his presence and then taking them out that evening to do something fun, crazy, or maybe even a little dangerous

His most fond parenting moments are when the baby is in their bouncer right besides him, happily babbling away and smiling at him, while he does his work at the computer. Quality time is his baby love language.

The type of dad to patiently and honestly answer his children’s millions of questions about anything and everything.

Will absolutely take them out to splash in the puddles when it rains (but then will also send them straight to the bath)

Shane

Is already pretty experienced in the parenting realm, but is thrown into a whole new adventure with the newborn phase. Finds himself to truly LOVE babies and toddlers

“Hm, can’t sleep? Let’s go get a snack.” “But dad, it’s 1AM” “I do this all the time, don’t worry. Just don’t tell [parent]”

Would let his kids roam free, but only if he is supervising, and is actually kinda strict/short. Absolutely fears losing his children and will do anything and everything to make sure they grow up safe and cared for.

A very stressed daddy but only because he loves his children so much that he would die if anything happened to them

The best cuddler out of all the bachelor parents. Wanna soft spot to curl up on the couch? He’s already passed out with his head back, snoring. His nice pudgy ‘dad’ belly makes the perfect pillow to rest baby heads on while he reads a book.

Bachelorettes

Abigail

The fun parent.

The kind that wakes up early on a Saturday with their kids, just as excited as they are, to eat sugar cereal and watch a show together.

Is always down to play (especially play fight). Will (endearingly) spook their partner a bit when they rough house because Abby has that wild feral look in her eye too often

The competitive parent that gets just a liiiitle too involved in whatever sport/organization/fair/et.al that the child is partaking in-all in good fun, of course.

I can picture her taking her child out to the forest, late at night, to lay on the soft moss. She’d tell them about monsters, lore, crystals, and everything supernatural and mystic. Whispering in the dark as they point up to the stars and laugh and laugh and laugh

Emily

Hippy granola mom to a T - have you seen her “organic quinoa and fresh goat milk” quote? She’d do anything to provide the best that nature has to offer her children

While her disposition toward her children is incredibly loving and free-spirited, she would probably be very resposible and stressed about doing right for her children

Would absolutely take her children by the hand, in various states of dress (jammies? Okay. Just a diaper? Alright. Ballgown? Let’s go), out to the forest with handmade woven baskets to collect all the gifts from the Earth that they can find

Absolutely the Craft Mom - she’d be all about enrichment, sensory play, and fostering a creative spirit

Tells the best stories. After bedtime routine, will sit with her children in thrir bed, and will tell stories of magic, of love, and of adventure. Her kids, eyes bright, won’t want the night to end, because mom is showing us how much wonder and mystery is in the world

Haley

So gentle and so sweet with her kids, but can send them running with just a ‘look’

Would be a nervous wreck the first go round, but an absolute master by the time the second comes around

Helicopter parent that obsesses over every milestone, growth, and accomplishment of their child. SO proud of them and can’t wait to praise them and brag about them.

The wonder parent that can do it all while looking absolutely breathtaking. She makes it look easy once she gets the hang of it

Can’t you just picture her and her baby girl in matching flowy Daisy sundresses dresses with pink ribbons in their beautiful blonde curls, chasing after each other barefoot in the fields, while the golden grass dances in the wind- gah I love this pretty pretty princess so much.

Leah

Cool Wine mom that drives a Subaru

Would absolutely read her child to bed every night, until they fell asleep.

Her transition into motherhood was flawless. She’s a natural parent who just loves in abundance

Soooo many nature walks, hikes, and camping trips. Always accompanied with a picnic basket, quiet peacefulness, and heart to hearts about whatever is going on in their life.

The definition of free-range parenting, encouraging self discovery and independence. Yeah, she’ll always step in when needed with some kind encouragement or advice, but would much rather watch her children learn about the world on their own terms

Maru

The do-it-all parent. Signs up for activities, projects, school boards, committees, and teams. Is actually on time, prepared, and succeeds in all of these.

The most prepared and responsible out of any of the parents. Always has snacks in her diaper bag and a first aid kit

Did someone say routine/chore chart

Would show love for her children through learning and new experiences-the best part about being a parent for her is watching her child’s brain turning and working as they think about the environment in front of them. At her best, her kids think she is incredibly fun and they have a blast doing anything and everything with her

Not exactly tender/overly affectionate with her kids, but absolutely concerned about being the best mom she can be by having balance of learning, play, discipline, and love.

Penny

Literally just Miss Honey from Matilda

Pinterest mom. All the crafts, DIYs, bento boxes with cute little caterpillar grapes-you name it, she’s already done it AND packed your backpack and laid your clothes out for you.

Can be heard saying “well the pediatrician said...” “hm well that’s not what dr alberts book said to do” among other “first time mom”things

Can be incredibly anxious worrying about their child’s development and well being. She’s been around kids her entire life, but this is HER child? This one doesn’t go home at the end of the day? Everything has to be absolutely perfect

The most sentimental-would absolutely weep going through the baby box to pull out the teeny tiny booties and smelling the baby blanket - “they were just SO TINY- we need another one NOW.”

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 2: Positive No to Yves Tumour

Six Organs got a lot of mid-year love this time

Welcome back to part two of the Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, in which we tackle the second half of the alphabet. If you missed part one, with its lengthy description of what we’re doing here, you can read it here. Or just muddle through. Cheers.

Positive No — Kyanite (Little Black Cloud)

Kyanite by Positive No

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No.

Tim Clarke’s take:

Positive No braid tight bursts of guitars, bass and drums into upbeat yet agitated shapes. There’s a touch of Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino in Tracy Wilson’s vocal delivery, or My Bloody Valentine’s Belinda Butcher, especially on expansive opener “Elevator Up.” At just under half an hour, the urgent economy of Kyanite’s songwriting makes all the more sense when you learn that it’s the band’s final album, released on Valentine’s Day this year. As their parting gesture, nothing is wasted, everything invested. As one of the song titles says, “Get In, Get Out. Don’t Linger. Go On.”

Raspberry Bulbs — Before the Age of Mirrors

Before The Age Of Mirrors by Raspberry Bulbs

Who picked it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “Even in its heaviest metal moments, on ‘Reclaimed Church’ and excellent closing track ‘Given Over to History,’ the record’s punk vibe cuts and grins. It insists on a deadly aesthetic seriousness, and at the same time, it’s tugging the rug out from under its own feet.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Raspberry Bulbs splices punk’s antic venom with metal’s storm and roar, shifting from one mode to the other inside individual tracks, sometimes measure to measure. Consider “Doggerel” which kicks off in a pogo-ing furor, rattling violently over rapid oi band rhythms, everything clipped and percussive, even the vocals, though hoarse and splintered. Midway through, a sirening guitar riff intercedes and the singing turns ominous and measured; all the sudden it’s metal. “Midnight Line” pulls the opposite trick, beginning in clanging, feedback-morphing guitar and larynx shredding howl, then introducing a punk rock palm-muted chug and anthemry. It’s a volatile mix, at times nearly playful, at others agonizingly heavy, at still others (the “Intervals” mostly) surprisingly lyrical. I lean towards the punk-er tracks—"They’re After Me” and “Doggerel”— metal fans may feel otherwise.

Stephen Riley — Friday the 13th (Steeplechase)

Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes. Derek said, “Knuffke and Riley are a directly collaborative pairing now and their partnership politely demands many more dates like this one.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

Saxophonist Stephen Riley has put together a quartet with a singular idea of playing these classic tunes on Friday the 13th in relatively straightforward and spacious renditions. Their take on Eddie Vinson's “Four” has Riley and cornetist Kirk Knuffke trading long solos. The rhythm section does its job, but it's a horn players' record. The album comes alive most when Knuffke and Riley interact more immediately. On Oliver Nelson's “Hoe Down,” they reveal how great a partnership they have, initially matching each other on the main melody before spiraling off. “Round Midnight” could have been too obvious a choice, but the combo's personalized take on the standard works out. Everyone sounds at ease enough within the song that they take a few more risks, and the horn players supplement each other nicely with more harmonic considerations. The album ends with a trio of spirited numbers, and in each case Riley and Knuffke play off each other's solos with a sharpness that by now makes sense. Riley's listening to Monk and playing like Rollins (hence the title track) as he and his group find ways to make old bop sound new.

Gil Scott-Heron and Makaya McCraven—We’re New Again, A Reimagining (XL Recordings)

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Who recommended it? Jenny Kelly.

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur Krumins notes, “McCraven lays down a lush musical backdrop that allows Scott-Heron’s words to have emotional impact.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The word “reimagine” has a sexy resonance, and for that reason, it’s often too casually used. But in the case of We’re New Again, the word is warranted. Drummer and producer Makaya McCraven doesn’t just remix Gil Scott-Heron’s final record, I’m New Here (2010); McCraven shuffles the track list, adds some relevant recordings of Scott-Heron’s voice, and creates entirely new arrangements, moods, and musical accompaniment for the earlier album’s songs. It’s ballsy — I’m New Here is justly recognized as a masterpiece, and it’s marked by a stylistic austerity. On that record, Scott-Heron sang and spoke and recited his poetry over minimalist beats, a strummed guitar, or his own piano playing. McCraven attentively reimagines the tunes, working with polyphonic, post-Bop ensembles; busy hip-hop soundscapes; gospel and funk quotations. Remarkably, none of the richness of Scott-Heron’s vocals and none of the complexity of his poetry get obscured. More often, McCraven inventively intensifies the impact of Scott-Heron’s songs. And the reordering and recontextualizing of the tracks reveals a different narrative, grounded in the resilience and the suffering of Scott-Heron’s upbringing and too-short life. You listen and you feel it. It’s a terrific record.

Six Organs of Admittance — Companion Rises (Drag City)

Companion Rises by Six Organs of Admittance

Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly

Did we review it? Yes. Jenny said it’s “straight-down-the-middle Six Organs, not as loud and abrasive as the first Hexadic disc, not as reticently wisp-y as the older folk-derived records.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

Back when Dusted was still a dot-com, we talked about making a site-specific canon for our 10th anniversary, a kind of “Dusted 500” field guide. There was a shared spreadsheet and talk of a benefit show and a mixtape comp and so on that never amounted to anything for myriad reasons, but I can promise you Ben Chasny would’ve figured into it somehow — and nearly a decade on from that, my promise stands. The latest (30th? Let’s call it 30th) Six Organs of Admittance record is a beautiful slow burner that shows why, all astral spirits and slow-rolling starlight guitar plucks that is, as Jenny rightly notes, a Six Organs line drive. My belief after numerous spins since early February — mostly in the mornings, for which this music also seems suitable accompaniment — is that, like the rest of Chasny’s oeuvre, it will appeal to anyone who likes guitars or reads this. On the off chance you stumbled in here or haven’t heard this record yet: Welcome. It’s always been this way.

Patrick Masterson

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Yes. Ian said, “it’s more a record of solidarity and mutual support than it is anything more prescriptive.”

Patrick Masterson’s take:

L.A. quintet Spanish Love Songs occupy a very specific point on what I like to think of as the Bar Band Spectrum, where one end is a bottom-rung covers-only collective found in just about any weeknight dive pre-COVID playing for beer money out of boredom and modest ambition… and the other end is Bruce Springsteen. This band isn’t as ramshackle as, say, Ladyhawk, nor have they yet hit a glass ceiling à la the Constantines; they sound to me more like Beach Fossils or Single Mothers, where everything from their songwriting to their slightly glossy production suggests they’re as ready as they’ll ever be for arena life. And what a record to make the case, too: Brave Faces Everyone is the sound of Run for Covers Records growing up or early onset Gen Z realizing a glass of wine after everything is, in fact, a coping mechanism for adulthood in a profoundly uncaring world. It’s got a big, young heart to match its big, old sound. It says, loudly, that in the increasingly untethered reality of 2020, we are all losers forever — but there’s still a “best of it” to be made if you wanna and the bravest face is an optimistic one. I’ll rock with that (from the quarantined confines of home and the other side of another lousy livestream, of course).

Patrick Masterson

Squirrel Flower — I Was Born Swimming (Polyvinyl)

I Was Born Swimming by Squirrel Flower

Who picked it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? Nope.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

Making the most of a dour mood, Squirrel Flower squeezes disaffection from her vocal delivery. The instrumentation is reminiscent of a less noisy Built to Spill, or maybe Julie Doiron, and is effectively now a retro indie rock sound originally from the late 90s or early 2000s. The jamminess of some of the drawn out riffs feel both pretty and sad, and could be a good soundtrack to a rainy drive. The heaviness is well developed without being bogged down. The lyrics catch your attention with their plainspoken narration of conflict (“You slap me, I’ll slap you right back” she repeats in “Slapback”). A fitting album for looking your troubles head on while still being totally surrounded by them.

Waterless Hills — The Great Mountain (Cardinal Fuzz)

Waterless Hills - 'The Great Mountain' by Waterless Hills

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Arthur Krumins’ take:

A dissonant flow that steadily increases in intensity starts this record, which is a live recorded improvisation. The combination of aching, modal violin by dbh with slightly overdriven cascading electric guitar by C Joynes makes for a feel reminiscent of “Venus in Furs” by the Velvet Underground. The percussion by Andrew Cheetham, a drum kit plug some extras like a hung Chinese gong, creates texture and mood. Sometimes there’s just a steady counting of time in the background, at other moments waves of cymbals crash and make a cacophonous emphasis as the music rises and falls. The overall effect of the jams is hypnotic, like getting absorbed in a swirling light show. The players’ sensitivity to the musical interplay of their instruments, combined with a masterful looseness, makes it a trip worth taking.

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead (Self-released)

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Who recommended it? Ian Mathers.

Did we review it? Yes. Ian Mathers notes, “tipping towards the slightly industrial/EBM side of the genre, We Mirror the Dead gains a kind of gloomy propulsion without losing any of the atmosphere or intensity of [the band’s] prior work.”

Jonathan Shaw’s take:

The Gothic is not famous for stylistic restraint, and neither are the various contemporary subgenres that have inherited goth music’s romance of dark interiors, painfully fraught feeling and highly stylized self-fashioning. A few recent acts have cut against the grain of those established maximalist textures: see the grim industrial rancor of Street Sects, and the more experimental, sample-based austerities of Wreck and Reference. Well Yells’ music feels similarly stripped down to a pulsing electronic essence. But the record is more interested in the strobing spaces of Clubland than in decrepit factory ruins, and the darkwave gloss of We Mirror the Dead presents a more conventional relation to goth’s sensations. At its best—as on album opener “Kill the King”—the music of Patrick Holbrook, sole member of Well Yells, snaps and glimmers with compelling dread and arch sophistication. Holbrook’s breathy tenor is a useful counterpoint; his vocals are vaguely reminiscent of the best of those other habitués of Clubland, the British New Romantics (remember Bronski Beat?). It’s good stuff, somehow simultaneously polished and dirty.

Lucinda Williams—Good Souls Better Angels (Thirty Tigers/Highway 20 Records)

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Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No.

Bill Meyer’s take: I haven’t listened much to Lucinda Williams; the one record I have by her, Sweet Old World, is 28 years old. The first thing that hit me when I listened to Good Souls Better Angels is what’s changed. Williams’ voice is much rougher, and she’s adjusted the music correspondingly, adding Hendrixian guitar flourishes to “Bone of Contention” and coarsening the domestic violence scenario “Wakin’ Up” with bad-trip electronics. The next is how pissed she sounds. Violent boyfriends are bad enough, but having a charmless sociopath for president is even worse. Fortunately, bile hasn’t overwhelmed her writing chops. Big-sounding roots rock isn’t really my thing these days, but if I feel the need to change that, Good Souls Better Angels is a good place to start.

Wire — Mind Hive (Pink Flag)

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Who picked it? Andrew Forell

Did we review it? Yes, Andrew said, “Mind Hive is concise yet full of restless intelligence, musical ideas and willingness to push boundaries.”

Derek Taylor’s take:

I tapped Wire late and left early. That truncated exposure lends a narrow vocabulary in describing their music contextually, pre- and post-reunions. This latest missive sounds alternately like what I remember and at least several zip codes removed with a heavy lean into synths. “Be Like Them” and “Primed and Ready” fall in the former category, while “Off the Beach” trades gangly ennui and menace for what almost resembles instrumental optimism until the lyrics stack dutifully into another ode to the disaffected and disconnected. “Oklahoma” feels inscrutably weird. “Hung” drops as the album’s extended, incremental, post-industrial dirge. There’s additional insulation sheathing this Wire, an inevitable adjunct of ascendancy to elder status, but the current foursome is still dependably conducting current.

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind (Warp)

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Who recommend it? Patrick Masterson

Did we review it? No.

Ian Mathers’ take:

Listen to music for long enough and you might realize that most of the time when you hope any artist goes in any particular direction with their work, you’re bound to be disappointed. But every so often, maybe after a promising album that you just didn’t fully click with, an artist does exactly what you were hoping for and fully manifests all the potential promise you thought you glimpsed. Yves Tumor’s 2018 album Safe in the Hands of Love was admirable in many ways, but it was really only on crucial single “Noid” that all the combustible elements were really brought together into something that properly bangs. Well, Heaven to a Tortured Mind might not have as many showcases for the ambient/noise chops that Tumor definitely has, but it does consistently bang for 36 minutes of should-be alternate universe pop hits, from the brassy “Gospel for a New Century” to the floaty duet “Kerosene!” For anyone who loved “Noid” and then found more to respect than the viscerally love on Tumor’s last record, this is the record you were waiting for, and it is magnificent and ferocious.

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hearts-hunger · 5 years

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I’m Happy at Home || part four

Look on my masterlist for parts 1-3!

Part Summary: You take a trip down memory lane to spring 1971, when you first got to know your mates’ adorable new bass player.

Pairings: John Deacon x Wife!Reader; dad!deaky

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2k (short again ik sorry)

Warnings: None!

A/N: Ok loves!! Here’s the memory I promised in the last chapter, and I think it’s pretty cute. It just jumps right into the memory and ends still in it, so we’ve left Montreal Deaky for the moment, but he’ll be back in all his glory in the next part. Besides, who can resist ‘71 Deaky with that cute smile and that lovely hair? Not me, that’s who. I hope you like it, and let me know what you think!

You had been Brian’s roommate at the time, both of you attending Imperial College London at various stages of your academic career. As considerate a flatmate as the aspiring astrophysicist was, he’d forgotten to mention to you that he’d invited Queen’s new bassist over first thing in the morning.

You’d stumbled out of bed when you heard the kettle being filled, the sound of Brian’s early morning tea-making a surer alarm than your own bedside clock since the day you’d moved in. You’d made it down the hall and to the bathroom when you realized that the shower was running already and that the soft humming coming from the kitchen wasn’t in Brian’s familiar voice. Stopped at the bathroom door and peeking around the corner into the kitchen, you bit your lip to keep an obscenity from tumbling out as you leaned back from the corner.

Nope, that wasn’t Brian at all. You wouldn’t have minded walking out in your “Ringo for President” t-shirt and messy hair if it had just been your roommate - you’d been best friends for so long that he was practically your brother, and you’d long since stopped caring about looking presentable for him. But the new bass player - John Richard Deacon, you didn’t think you’d ever forget that introduction - was heart-stoppingly cute, and you’d wanted to make a good impression on him the next time you saw him. You were just about to make your retreat to your room to actually get dressed when the bathroom door opened; you took one step backwards and bumped into Brian, all dripping hair and lanky limbs and nothing but a towel around his waist.

“Hey,” he’d protested, pushing you forward a bit so you weren’t standing on his foot.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, unblushing at the slightly compromising situation you found yourself in, you with no bra and him with no clothes at all. There was nothing romantic or sexual between the two of you; though you’d nursed a latent crush on him in the early days of your friendship, living with him had made that a thing of the past. Not that you didn’t think Brian was good-looking or sweet or good fun to be around; you just knew that he’d make some other girl quite happy, and his friendship meant the world to you.

“Mind telling me why you’re just standing right at the doorway?” he asked, amused. Then, with a flicker of worry, “Did you need in? Sorry if I was taking too long.”

“No, you’re ok,” you said. “I just... ah, didn’t know we were having company.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said, realizing. “I meant to tell you last night. We’re going over a few things before the show. I asked him to put on some tea and I told him you had a stash of Jammie Dodgers up in the cabinet.”

You frowned. “You’re not even supposed to know about those.”

Brian smirked. “You want me to go tell John that he can’t have any?”

“No,” you said quickly. “But next time, I’m telling him about your million-year-old brandy hidden behind that vase from your mother that you never use.”

He gave a melodramatic gasp. “That’s not even on the same level as Jammie Dodgers.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Brimi.”

“Fine, point taken.” He gave you a crooked smile. “You could go say hi, you know, instead of hiding out and arguing with me. He doesn’t bite. Unless you wanted him to, maybe.”

“Brian,” you scolded, feeling your cheeks flush. He only laughed.

“Besides, I can’t go out there looking like this,” you insisted, your voice a little quieter for fear of John overhearing.

“No?” Brian teased, matching your tone. “Maybe he’s into the all-natural kind of thing.”

“Brian Harold May,” you said, smacking his arm and earning another laugh from him. “You’re horrible, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “But you should still go say hi.”

He crossed to his bedroom and shut the door behind him; you followed suit, putting a bra on and checking that your hair wasn’t a complete mess. You didn’t want this John Richard Deacon fellow to think that you were avoiding him, but you also didn’t want to be an absolute mess the first time you really talked to him. Satisfied, marginally, with your appearance, you went back out to the hallway and rounded the corner, making your way into the kitchen.

“Hi,” you ventured, giving a shy little wave even though he had his back to you. He turned to face you with the expression of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his smile endearingly nervous.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry about - I mean - I couldn’t help but overhear, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I - ”

“Oh, that’s ok,” you assured him, feeling a little embarrassed. Which parts had he heard? “Brian and I aren’t masters of arguing quietly.”

“All the same, I’m sorry if it was a bit of a shock to see me in your kitchen so early,” he said, bashful. “I asked Brian if you were ok with it, and he said you would be. And that he’d let you know.”

“Well, no harm done,” you said, giving him a smile and hoping to ease his guilt. “If there’s one thing to know about Brian, it’s that he’s an absolute genius who would lose his head if it weren’t attached to him. He tends to be very scatterbrained.”

He smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll remember that for next time and ask you myself if it’s ok to come over.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a deep blush rose to his cheeks. “Not that I’m - I mean - sorry, that was - ” He gave a nervous laugh. “Awfully presumptuous of me.”

“No, you’re fine,” you said, endeared to him. “You don’t have to ask to come over here - Roger and Freddie are over here all hours, and now that you’re in the band, our home is your home too.”

“Oh,” he said softly, surprised. “That’s very kind. Thank you.” He looked down at his shoes, a well-loved pair of trainers. “I wouldn’t go giving me any special band privileges yet, though, I’ve only just auditioned.”

Trying to make him feel more at ease, you hopped up on the bar stool at the island, trying to give the impression that this was just a casual conversation and not the Spanish Inquisition. You leaned your elbows on the counter and propped your chin in your hand.

“Oh, I think you’re here to stay,” you said sincerely. “I’m no musical genius like you guys, but it sounded great to me at your audition. And the boys have said they think you’re really good.”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes alight and hopeful. “They have?”

You smiled. He really did have the loveliest features, all brightened and softened by this newfound excitement. You found yourself wondering what it would be like to have him look that way because of you, maybe because you decided to reach up on tiptoes and kiss him...

You blushed, shaking your head to clear it. Geez, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been absolutely doe-eyed over somebody like this, much less after only meeting him one time and then stumbling upon him in your kitchen at seven in the morning. You couldn’t help hiding behind your hands a bit, trying to conceal your deep blush.

“Yeah,” you said, remembering the question. “They really like your style. Roger was impressed that you got ‘Keep Yourself Alive’ right off the bat. That’s one of the ones he auditioned with, and it took him a few run-throughs to get it.”

John’s soft laugh was a little surprised. “Roger was impressed?”

You smiled. “Yeah, he was, and don’t let him get to you. He’s a jackass, but he’s really a sweetheart underneath all that.”

“Well... I’m looking forward to getting to know that side of him,” John said diplomatically, drawing a laugh from you. You couldn’t help but notice the way he smiled when you laughed, and you felt you’d like to make him smile like that all the time.

The kettle began its familiar whistle and John turned to take it off the stove, filling two mugs with hot water before replacing it on the eye.

“Tea’s up in the cabinet to your left,” you said. “Though Brian probably told you that. Help yourself to whatever kind you like - we have kind of an eclectic collection.”

“I’m really plain when it comes to tea,” he admitted. “I usually go for Lady Grey or something equally unexciting.”

“Lady Grey's my favorite, actually,” you said with a smile. “That should be up on top.”

He took two teabags out of the box and fixed your mugs, spooning some sugar into yours at your request and adding milk to both. He handed your mug to you and you cradled it with both hands, letting the warmth seep into your fingers.

“Thank you for making tea,” you said. “I wouldn’t have made you make tea - I mean, you’re the guest, after all - but my skill for being a hostess has never quite rubbed off on Brian. So I apologize on his behalf.”

“Oh, you don’t need to,” John said, a little embarrassed. “I don’t mind. Did I make yours alright?”

You took a sip. “Perfect,” you told him.

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of you sipping at your tea, the sunlight growing brighter as it filled your tiny flat. You had the feeling that you would be content to spend every morning like this, sharing tea with John Richard Deacon.

“So, John,” you said. “Can I ask you something?”

He looked up at you and gave you a gentle smile. “Of course.”

You bit your lip. “What do you do in real life?”

You could tell from the sound of his laugh that you’d caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like, not in the band.”

“Oh,” he said, his smile still lingering. “Um, I study electrical engineering at university. Not that exciting.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You must know lots of fun things. Do you like studying it?”

“Very much, actually,” he said. “It’s always been a hobby of mine since I was a kid, and it’ll suit me just fine for my living. Actually, I’ve been hoping to get a closer look at Brian’s guitar and ask him about how he wired it.”

“Oh, he’ll talk with you about Red Special to your heart’s content,” you said. “And probably past that. Seriously, don’t be afraid to ask him about it. He’ll talk your ear off.”

“Who’ll talk whose ear off?”

Both you and John looked over to the doorway, seeing Brian come in.

“You’re going to talk John’s ear off about the Red Special,” you clarified. “He’s interested in how it’s wired.”

“Are you really?” Brian asked excitedly.

John smiled. “Yeah, I’d love to know how you built it. It’s fantastic, and that sound is so unique.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Brian said, his cheeks pinking a little. He busied himself making himself some tea, John politely moving out of the way of Brian’s gangly limbs.

“Y/N’s right,” Brian said. “I’ll babble on ‘til you’re begging me to stop. But you’re more than welcome to take a look at her.”

John’s gaze flickered to you. “H-her?”

You blushed and Brian chuckled. “Oh, sorry, I meant Red Special. My one and only. I don’t have any say in who takes a look at Y/N.”

Your flush deepened. “Bri,” you warned. You looked over to John. “Sorry about him, he’s - ”

“Just teasing,” Brian supplied with a grin. “As she knows.” He tugged on a curl that had come loose from your bun. “But enough about you two, you’ve got me started on my guitar, and I’m not going to stop anytime soon. Come on, John, give me your professional electrical engineer opinion.”

John gave you a sweet smile as he made to follow Brian to the living room. “It was lovely having tea with you,” he said.

You returned his smile. “You too, John Richard Deacon.”

He chuckled at the reminder of how he’d introduced himself. “Maybe we could have tea again, before our next show.”

You grinned. “I’d like nothing better.”

Read part 5!

series taglist: @mirkwoodshewolf @caborhapch @in-theyearof39 @someone-get-a-medic @deaky-dandelion @simply-sams-things @jazzman-19 @ixchel-9275

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let me know if you’d like to be added to either! also, let me know if i’ve put you on the wrong one, or if i’ve forgotten to add you!

#sjdk i'm sorry this one's so short again!!#but the next part more than makes up for it #i'm not even finished with it yet and it's already like 4k #and it's smutty so ~#anyways i hope you like this one!#let me know what you think!!#also i got myself a cute line break because i can't stand not having it any more #maddie writes stuff!#i'm happy at home series #john deacon x reader #john deacon x wife!reader #john deacon fluff #john deacon fanfiction #queen fanfiction #queen fluff #deaky x reader fluff

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 28

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 - Pt 16 - Pt 17 - Pt 18 - Pt 19 - Pt 20 - Pt 21 - Pt 22 - Pt 23 - Pt 24 - Pt 25 - Pt 26 - Pt 27 -

Use of If Only – Andrea Bocelli, La Tua Semplicita – Placido Domingo, Josh Groban

…

Packed for a week uncertain of what you were expected to do you brought options and wore your favorite heeled boots and jeans, sitting terribly tattered over your black tights with a baggy maroon sweater under your jacket and house scarf. Hair blowing freely around you in the frigid breeze forcing you to have charmed your bolero hat to not blow away. At your side Sirius stood in his favorite thick silver sweater under his leather jacket, jeans tucked into his own boots tied over very thick socks with a hat matching yours. His arm fixed around your back the whole bus ride to the station went well even in the growing storm keeping all flights grounded. Most trains were shut down too, but not the Wizard’s Express; on sheer collected frequent travel miles alone the trip was free.

Through the irritated crowds of Muggles being led away passing platform nine you went straight for Platform 12, by the phone booth along the wall you passed through the shadowy corner and onto the lantern lit platform scarcely filled with fellow travelers, among them a familiar face. Through the wafts of steam you carried your collected tickets and joined Newt in his eager trot to the soon to leave train. A weak chuckle left him and aboard the train he said, “Mind if we share?”

You shook your heads and your father stated, “Love to, Newt. I see you’ve been called out too?”

Newt stole a glance at you, “Yes. My brother was invited, though, he rarely travels to Paris anymore. Asked I go in his place.” He joined you on the walk through to an empty car passing others noticing your place on the train, “Is it true, you are related to them?”

Peering up at him you answered, “Well,” you sat down setting your messenger bag beside you on your bench as he set his briefcase down beside him on his through your father closing and locking the door, “It turns out Suzsieanne is my grandmother. On my Mum’s side.”

Newt, “Well, that’s, I would say wonderful. I mean, new relations and all that, but then again, I know how some relations can be. I do hope you get along.”

You shrugged and crossed your legs in leaning back, “So far they don’t seem very pleased that I want to open a shop with Fred and George.”

Newt waved his hands, “Ah, they’ll get over it. Have to. I mean, how much pressure could they expect to give, great grandparents up out of nowhere.” Making you chuckle before he said, “Oh, I have it on good authority Hemlock and Hippogriffs’ judges are near a decision. Should not be long now. Plus,” he reached into his inner jacket pocket for a set of pictures he passed you, “Your Nundu has chosen his own mate. They really are adorable. I will let you know the first sight of cubs.”

“Thank you.”

Newt looked to Sirius upon being asked, “How is the Missus taking the trip?”

Newt chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah, yes, there was a bit of a, scuffle, inside with a pair of Wampus cats and my Hodag that got loose. Best I let the house breathe a bit.” Making you all chuckle in the first shift of the train, “Where are you staying?”

Sirius, “There’s a Black Family home in the 4th arrondissement, I believe. 10 rooms, and a pool, if you’re in need of a place. Bit of a poker win back in 1869.”

Newt chuckled, “That would be lovely. So hard to find a hotel securable and willing to risk my suitcase again. It seems I have quite a reputation, even here in Paris.”

You giggled and settled against your father’s side in the car in Newt’s sharing of his nearly full year since seeing you. Three hours nearly you shared and laughed your way through the storm not so terrible on the other end, merely a peaceful falling of snow on the calm breeze. Under your father’s arm you were nestled safely for the stroll out the station, your late arrival granting the group of photographers outside plenty of space to steal pictures of you and Newt no doubt spreading ripples of your arrival in Paris went quickly awaking plenty. All while the scarce group of photographers aparated after you all and recorded the location you were staying in.

The snowcapped three story mansion tucked in an obscure corner formerly boarded up to the Muggle eye now polished and windows lighting up inside at the self sparking fire. Up the stoop you were led to the large door, once dingy now shifting to a brilliant peach stone door coated in intricate swirls around two rectangular windows glowing bright orange from the lights within. A hidden key was produced and eased into the hidden lock for the pair to ease open granting you entrance. Each room of the lavish apartment tidied itself up, cushions fluffed and all while you explored the house only to settle into your chosen rooms for the early morning the following day.

An early bell sounded through the house stirring a groan from you in your climb up out of bed. Through the hall when you entered it you heard your father cursing into his pillow through Newt’s muffled inquiry as to who it could be. Straightening your sweater across your middle it drooped off one of your shoulders at the dropping of your left pant leg from its crumpled spot at your thigh. Down the steps from the third floor to the first you trotted lazily groaning to yourself in your try to contain your curls from falling into your face. At the doors you unlocked the left and swung it open at the tenth ring only to meet a wall of flashes and shouts of your name making you close and lock the door again.

Turning back to the steps you spotted your father draped over the banister of the third floor with his partially open robe revealing the top most of his Animagus tattoos, “Wrong door Pumpkin?”

“Cameras.”

He groaned and shook his head, “Of course.” Turning back to his own bed seeing you still had time. “Still some time for another nap.”

Zapping up to the third floor you strolled back to your bed and burrowed under your covers groaning to yourself for the few moments until you fell asleep again ignoring your presumed wondering at how you must have looked in those pictures half dead to the world. But the hours passed and at the assigned time you got up and trudged down to the kitchen, finding your father inside waving his wand to cover the window blocking the sight into the kitchen where he tucked it into the pocket of his open robe to finish prepping the breakfast he was making. In your seat you claimed at the table you eyed Newt, in his striped jammies and slippers who moved to collect a cup of coffee freshly brewed while you called a glass from the cupboard for the pitcher of orange juice floating from the fridge along the wall.

Newt, “Thank you.” He said to your father at his portion of breakfast he was given while peeling an orange he was going to offer to the groggy Niffler waking in his lap.

You grinned sleepily at Sirius and he took his own seat with a mug of coffee for himself, “Eat up Pumpkin. According to the schedule it seems we’ve a full day ahead of us.”

Groaning around your mouthful Newt chuckled saying, “I do hope there’s a meal in there somewhere.”

Swallowing after your chews you grumbled back, “Better be.” Making them chuckle.

In a floor length green layered dress with long sleeves cuffed at your wrist by silver buttons etched with cat paws and secured around your middle with a black belt latching with meeting silver clips forming a cat Minerva had gifted you. Leaving your hair down it fell to the middle of your back only to droop into your face at the tying of your heeled boots over your tights. Another helping of simple eyeliner under nude eye shadow and a simple lip stain.

In the main hall you joined your father and Newt, the latter in a full deep green suit over a dark grey suit, your father holding your hat in hand he helped to add in the perfect tilt, “Here, you’ll need this. Proper witches never go without a good hat. Gran used to shout that at my cousins.” Making you giggle in his grin at you.

His hand folded around yours and he led you to the door where you all added your jackets and then exited into the line of flashing cameras blocking you from the Thestral led open carriages you all climbed into joining the others long the path while around the streets the blustering blizzard raged on as cover for the occasion keeping the Muggles inside. Filling the streets line after line of the carriages led you straight to the great Notre-Dame Cathedral where you all were let out and you filed inside. A sea of green taking up each available spot on the pews under the guidance of the ushers, all of whom paused when they saw you enter. Double takes filled the crowds followed surely by gasps until you were led surely enough straight to the second row right behind Vivien, Ollivier, their two sons, daughters in law and grandchildren taking up the full row, even with some on each other’s laps, all who grinned and turned to introduce themselves to you eagerly.

Taking your seats you all eyed the officiator who stood up on the platform in the silencing hall who began to share a brief history of the couple who conceived the woman you were here to pay respects to. Her brothers were mentioned and stated to have gone to the brother school to Beauxbatons for their male students, to stop the wringing of your hands when he got to her vanishing and missing state for decades your father folded his hand on yours on your lap. Firmly your free hand eased over his forearm laying against yours in your try not to cry, a battle you lost by a single rebellious tear when Ollivier managed to find the ability to stand up at the end of a string of relatives and family friends.

“Thank you, for so many of you sharing this, painful yet joyous moment with us. So long we have hunted down each lead and tip given about our precious Suzsieanne, and now with a single story on an invisible Ice Bird all the way from England came with it a face we’d imagined lost to us.” His eyes tearily moved to you seeing your dry swallow and shaky exhale, “Our girl, we had so many hopes for her, that one day we would find her safe and sound. Not what we hoped, but home now.”

A tear streamed down his cheek, “All her childhood she just loved to explore, we could never find her, our precious bunny bouncing around from one place to the next. Even her first acting roles, we could barely get her to sit still. ‘Something simple, but wondrous’, that was what she expected of her future. We imagined the chance to study abroad might change her mind, for something grander.” His smile dimmed and he inhaled deeply trying to remain calm in the slight parting of your lips. “From lost, to found with this great pain of losing our little bunny we have gratefully learned that in our parting we had not just a granddaughter, Jewelia Evans, who also unfortunately has been lost to us, but a great granddaughter, Jaqiearae Black. One whom we hope to get to know much better in the coming years, who seems to be every bit as curious and adventurous as our little bunny. Thank you all again for honoring our daughter with us today.”

Outside the cathedral you all followed on foot to the graveyard straight to the family crypt where you all lined the street to watching the coffin being led on an open carriage through to the crypt where she was laid to rest with her family to a final Eulogy. Behind you the carriages lined up again and in your father speaking to another familiar face you walked through the slender path for the few family crypts until you found Newt outside the Lestrange Crypt on which he added a bouquet of white orchids into the flower holder along the doorframe. His eyes turned to the one across from it another bundle of orchids turning his head to you and your weak grin, “Sorry.”

He shook his head, “No, thank you. I just had to stop by.”

Moving closer to him you peered up at the snow coated name across the top of the doorframe meaning he found it from memory alone, “I have a habit you know. Well, not really a habit, it sort of just happens.” Your head turned and your eyes met, “The first time I touch someone I tend to see their worst fears.” His lips parted, “A time they were absolutely terrified. I am sorry, when we first met, I saw you speaking to Grindelwald and Leta wreathed in flames.” Blinking a few times he nodded, “Then it changed, like I blinked, and I was in those flames and you were pleading to save me.” Steadily he inhaled through a momentary flutter of his eyelids to fight off looming tears, “You’re not the only one. Snape is so terrified what will happen to me. Among others.”

“As we should be.”

You nodded then glanced up at the crypt again, “We’ve lost too many great women to this war.”

Weakly he chuckled, “Yes. Yes we have.” Reaching out his hand folded in yours and he turned you back to follow the path back to the others.

The crowds again filled the carriages and straight to a lavish palace of Versailles you all entered through the main courtyard. Newt leaned in saying. “No worries, Wizards rent out the palace from time to time for parties. No need for trespassing here.” Making you nod and look upwards at the intricately painted ceiling between the support beams and chandeliers.

Through each of the halls you spotted a great number of celebrities and politicians alike, and not limited to France, the most shocking was a pair of famous singers you recognized right away. Softly you asked your father, “Is that-?”

At once the pair of men turned, one with his hand on the shoulder of the other, Placido Domingo and Andrea Bocelli, the former naming you for the latter who then waved you over to the pair of them. A grin eased onto your lips and you weakly chuckled eyeing the pair who both shook your father’s hand recognizing him right away.

Andrea, “It has been a long time, Sirius.”

You giggled as he replied, “Yes, far too long.”

Placido glanced at you saying through claiming you hand he cradled, “I remember when you were just a tiny young thing.”

Andrea, “With quite a set of lungs too. That prop fell once, and you let out this, screech.” Making you giggle through his deep chuckle joining Placido and your father too.

Andrea’s hand eased across the back of yours in leaning in to say, “I am not certain if you are aware, but we got a message just last week, days after being asked to perform, there was a change to our sets-.”

Echoing through the halls you heard the call for you all to take your seats out in the covered tented area in the vast intricate snow coated garden heated around you all without bothering the frost coated foliage at all. Through a large doorway you eyed the large collection of tables loaded for the meal being readied in the kitchens while you moved to find yours. In the sea of random relatives you settled beside your father and Newt, who no doubt was moved the night before at learning you were staying together. Across from your table the pair of singers sat chatting about the night ahead with Placido stealing glances your way in between comments to Andrea.

All at once your head turned hearing Jean say, “And to open this celebration of life is our Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France, Luc Gerard.”

The tall man with sandy hair and round spectacles took the stand and opened with a clear speech about how amazing an attribute the whole family was to the French Wizarding community. All through the room you spotted a varied collective of people through the simple brunch being passed out. The speeches never seemed to end between mingled bouts of pictures projected on a floating screen until your eyes turned to Vivien in her standing to say, “For today we were torn between two songs to have performed, and in our research the two singers responsible for the songs had actually performed with our granddaughter before she passed.”

To yourself you whispered, “Please no.”

Vivien’s eyes turned to you and you inhaled sharply at her saying, “To our great pleasure we discovered our great granddaughter has been training vocally, and we would like to invite her to recreate those duets. Starting with Andrea Bocelli, to perform ‘If Only’.”

Forcing a grin onto your face you rose at your chair easing back in a motion of her hand and your eyes turned to Placido, who guided Andrea up to the ledge along the wall you had exited from with a small orchestra taking their places. A weak chuckle left you in nearing the pair your hand rose to brush your curls back that kept flowing into your face without your hat that was claimed along with your jacket at the door. Seven steps later and you were atop the ledge where you accepted Placido’s hand to guide you into place, a gentle pat on your shoulder later and he moved to the side after whispering, “Break a leg.”

Softly to yourself you mentally whispered, “I would prefer that right now” noticing the cameras lining up to film the performances.

Gently the orchestra began to play led by the piano and Andrea began to sing in Italian,

Stay here, near me

Over here, right here

You'll see, you'll see, you'll see

What you mean to me

Something more than gold

Something like the dawn

That I wait for

*Inhaling shakily you peered out over the crowd and focused on your two escorts instead of the hopeful grins of your relatives. A grin spreading on everyone’s faces as your voice sounded out clearly.*

If only we could turn back time

Back to the day we said goodbye

Maybe your heart would still be mine

My love, if only

Where are you? Where are you, love?

There's something in heaven,

Something in heaven indeed,

Something more than gold

Something like a song

That I dance with you

If only we could turn back time

Back to the day we said goodbye

Maybe your heart would still be mine

My love, if only

*Together in Italian you sang*

Even now, life is

Upon us, if you're with me

Heaven reappears here

Until the end

*Switching to English to continue together*

Maybe your heart would still be mine

My love, if only

*Then he sang alone in Italian*

You rock the world

You rock steadily the wind,

And the wheat

For a few moments there was silence until you felt Placido’s hand on your shoulder along with Andrea’s on your side, missing your arm he was hoping to hit, both softly complimenting you through the claps and sparse whistles coming from your escorts a few other guests copied. Andrea took a bow and was led back to his seat in Placido taking his place beside you asking softly, “You do know the words?”

Weakly you giggled and whispered back in Spanish, “You are the first to ask me that.” Making him chuckle as you added, “Imagine how terrible this would go if I didn’t.”

Looking out again you caught the teary eyed relatives of yours sniffling in their first glimpse of their little girl performing again if they chose to forget just who they had announced was going to sing. The title of the song was named for the audience, La Tua Semplicità.

Again the orchestra played and you readied to begin your portion for the song entirely in Italian in a far more operatic tone than the former song.

(Possibly terribly butchered translation from google)

I stand before you

I look with my own eyes

In which converge

Those starry streets

* Placido* The eyes of him are ignorant

Of which the silence reigns in you

From himself, the light

* together* Of the unbounded stars, he will take it

*You * I think of the day that he will be so full

* Placido* The amazement of your simplicity

* together* Which has the peak of the world in its grasp,

* Placido* And in this it will endure as long as it lives

*You* And live forever, here and beyond,

* together* and beyond here.

I will be closing my eyelids

In front of the flickering glow

* Placido* The less I know

The more I believe

* together* Let me open my closed eyes

And only you can wrap it up

With your immense breath

Of the slender breath of the soul

* Placido* I think of the day that he will be so full

The amazement of your simplicity

* You* Which has the peak of the world in its grasp,

And in this it will endure intact

*Placido* And live forever

*together* and beyond here, and beyond here.

I think of the day that he will be so full

The amazement of your simplicity

*Placido* Which has the peak of the world in its grasp,

* You* And in this it will endure intact

*Placido* And live forever

*You* and beyond here

Openly crying your relatives, and those that had known her and seen her perform before. Down the steps again Placido led you and in the rise of the professional Cello player you parted ways and you eased through the crowds to take your seat again to clamp onto your father’s hand he knowingly laid on your lap holding his compliments for later. Another twenty minutes you sat for the final performances then you went inside to see the set up near pop up museum on the Pearisiyiae clan. Still exhaling shakily you waded through the crowd of your relatives and their compliments until they were all called away leaving you in a sea of random people.

Suddenly your arm was looped around another and a blonde teen a few inches taller than you standing with a silvery glow about her, said, “Have you seen the Piccadilly performance photos yet?”

You shook your head, “Unfortunatly no.”

Her grin doubled and she looked to the rest of the group, “If you will excuse us, they simply cannot be missed.” Earning understanding chuckles in your being led away by the young Veela. A safe distance away around a corner and a bit down the hall she grinned at you again to a far more spacious area around others too distracted to flock to you. “I thought you might need a hand out of the masses.”

You weakly giggled asking, “That obvious?”

“If you do not mind my asking, how long have you known you were related. Our family and theirs usually spend the holidays together. Oh, I am Fluer Delacour.”

“I got a letter from them about a month ago, we met for the first time a week ago.”

“Wow.”

You giggled again, “And already they are insisting on public performances.”

“Well, I will do my best to keep you distracted so they cannot steal you away.”

Soon enough the event was through and you lingered with your relatives at their request. Near the entrance you stood beside your father with the photographers lingering as well. Their Minister came around the corner beside Vivien and Ollivier, the trio of them came to your side stirring another grin onto your face in brushing your hair behind your ear.

Luc, “Miss Black, under a great deal of discussion with the Aurors forming our Ministry, in a display of gratitude and welcome to your proud French lineage we wished to grant you this.” He passed you a Wizarding travel French passport, “Dual citizenship, we were unable to grant this to your Mother in her lifetime, though she did travel here a few times. Hopefully this will assist you in feeling more at home here among your expanded family, who now you may visit officially whenever you wish. It is charmed so when you show it to Muggles they accept it for their traveling as well.”

“Thank you. This, is an incredible gift.”

Lovingly you were given hugs from each of your new relatives, who all stated you all would be in touch soon with hopes for another visit as your new cousins were being sent back to school soon just like you would be. Back to the house you went, taking a warm bath then heading off to bed for a good nights sleep until your early train ride back.

Pt 29

#Trip to France #Funeral #Placido Domingo #Andrea Bocceli #Newt Scamander #Palace of Versailles #Black Family Home #Gifts #Family Reunion #Sirius Black #Fleur Delacour

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omishu · 4 years

Note

3, 5, 10, 13, 28, 29, 40, 47, 61, 87, 95, 98!

AAH! 🤩 Thank you so much for your inquiries!! 😆 This is my first ever Tumblr ask challenge to receive, so I'm honored 😖 but it's a lot! 😱 I'll try to answer everything thoroughly. 😅 Here it goes! 😁

3. If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

I love the idea of shapeshifting., Not just the kind of transfiguration that Tonks or McGonagall do, but more like adopting the abilities of different animals suited for different scenarios. Like, if I could grow bat wings to fly and then switch to develop lungs like a seal to swim for long periods or the eyes of a tarsier to see in the dark, etc., that'd be dope.

But my superhero alterego actually has the ability to manipulate luck, so she can basically be a blessing or curse to others. It's based on her own storage of luck though. So if she's had a lot of bad luck lately, she can deal it out; alternatively she can give out good luck when she gets lucky. It's kind of a game of balance, but she has meters for both that get distributed and replenished.

5. Tell us some funny drunk story.

I've really only ever been drunk once. It was a time when I was house-sitting for some friends, watching their two dogs while they went on vacation (the usual). I invited a different friend over, my bestie from middle school. Typically, I have a code for myself to not invite guests into clients' homes, and doing so this time set the dominos a-topplin'. We decided to have a Toy Story marathon, like normal grown ups. To make it really adult, we thought we'd make it more interesting by playing drinking games throughout all the movies. There are four movies. Normally, I don't drink much, just a glass of wine or a beer every once in a while, so ... we got big cans of Mike's extra hard lemonade in different fruity flavors (because ... adults watching kids' movies). Anyway, we had our snacks (French macarons and Wegman's pizza, q classic combination, but not really), the dogs had been fed and set up for bed, and we had our jammies on. All was well for the first two movies: we're reliving our childhoods and the early days of cgi animation, laughing and having a grand old time. By the third movie, what's left of the large pizza is cold. So we stumble down two flights of stairs, carrying a mostly empty pizza box, while dogs jumped all over us, trying to get to the oven in the kitchen on the main floor, like this was some kind of epic high fantasy novel quest. I put the pizza on a cookie sheet. The oven's preheated. Pizza goes in. When pizza is all melty again, I grab a potholder, because I'm responsible. BUT it's not covering the end of the metal handle poking out, and I get BURNED, literally, right on the wrist. Which is the hand I usually pose with for selfies. I've had to totally rearrange how I take pictures of myself now because I have an obvious scar there. Anyway, I stick my hand under cold water and get some ice on it right away, so it doesn't actually hurt as much as it probably should have; granted I have a lot of experience with burn damage, so I may be somewhat desensitized to it. Moral of the story, kids, don't heat up food while you're drunk. I don't even remember what happened in the third movie tbh. I passed out after finishing my third large can of alcoholic beverage, and we went to see TS4 at the theater the next morning, hungover like fools.

10. Who was the last person to disappoint you?

The answer is me. I constantly disappoint myself, because I have impossibly high standards. I tend to be very ambitious and driven, so when I don't live up to my own expectations for myself, I'm disappointed. But failure is a chance to learn. Keep moving forward!

13. If the whole world listened to you right now, what would you say?

GOD IS REAL; HIS NAME IS JESUS CHRIST, AND HE LOVES YOU UNCONDITIONALLY MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.

28. What was your last lie?

"I'll check it out" when someone recommended a phone app to me today. 😬

29. Dumbest lie you ever told?

🤔 I don't really remember most of my lies because they're small, meaningless, and/or usually get cleared up right away. Plus, I don't normally like to lie, so most of them are accidents from misunderstandings or possible future truths or super obvious for joking purposes, like hyperbole or sarcasm.

40. What was the last gift you gave?

When my sister and I rode the bus to NYC from DC to go see Frozen on Broadway together, I gave her a keychain. I got us matching Funko Pop Frozen 2 keychains to commemorate the event. We both Disneybounded as the queens, so we got the characters we matched; she got Anna, and I got Elsa.

47. When was your first kiss?

It depends on what kind of kiss you mean. When I was in 1st grade, I kissed a boy's forehead on a dare. Then in like maybe 3rd grade, I kissed my best friend on her lips out of excitement for something that had happened. But if you mean romantically, I've only ever kissed one person in the lips, and that was my first love. He was my boyfriend in the beginning of high school, back when I still had braces, so it was probably freshman year. He used to come to my house after school some times, and we went for an evening stroll along the golf course one night. He kissed me, and I kissed him again, but then I turned away when he tried to kiss me again. My face was hot and red when we got back, and his mom was waiting to take him home; she knew exactly what had happened because she made a joke about it, and I started getting dizzy from embarrassment. He dumped me a couple years later and then almost a decade later, we started hooking up again, but then he decided he just wanted to be friends, which I couldn't handle, so I cut off ties with him. 🤷‍♀️ His loss

61. Something you find romantic?

There was a time when I liked a guy in my Japanese-American cultural exchange group. The whole club went to an obon matsuri at a Buddhist temple one year with crafts, food, kimono fashion show, taiko, etc. We danced together under the stars with my dress swirling at my feet and thousands of fireflies twinkling out of the ground around us. It was so magical. Then we all went for the best sushi I've ever had and my first beer, which I split with a girl who's now one of my besties. He walked me to my car and made sure I got home safely. Turns out he was 17 years older than me (short and baby faced), twice divorced, and had kids. I was barely 21. Yikes.

87. Meaning behind your blog name?

This is a fun question! I've always loved animation and making my own characters. When I was really little, some time in elementary school, I was super into the show Xiaolin Showdown, which has a character named "Omi". I used that as the basis for the name of my first ever OC and then several other OC's after her haha then in middle school, my best friend had the same first name as me, just spelled differently (yes, the same ms bestie from the drunken shenanigans above. We're getting brunch next weekend too). So we started calling each other by our OC's names, Omi and Lala (Omishu and Laphelliae). We even introduced each other under these identities, so the name stuck. Everyone called me Omi in highschool, and it drove my mom crazy! Even the teachers called me that; Mom absolutely hated it. Now it's my online alias for almost every platform I use. If you ever see a username with Omishu, Omishu Kitsuni, or OmishuK, chances are it's me!

95. Share your favourite quote.

Too many!! Short answer, THE ENTIRE BIBLE. Long answer ... Uh, it depends on the context. The whole series of quotes from the Disney wisdom collection, yesss. A couple on speaking/listening that I appreciate are: "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt." - Abraham Lincoln and "We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak." Epictetus. I live by Mark 12:28-31, though: "... 'Which commandment is the most important of all?' Jesus answered, 'The most important is, '... you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.' The second is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these.'"

98. Have you ever made your mum cry? What happened?

Yes, in college my mentor's husband preached a message about forgiveness. I had to leave in the middle to call my mom. She had verbally abused me and my sisters while I was growing up, which has caused me to develop multiple psychoses in my childhood that I'm still learning to deal with today. My unrealistic expectations are also caused by trying to earn her approval. Anyway, I had to tell her that I don't hold it against her and recognize the stresses of parenting and appreciate how she's tried to do her best for me. We were both crying. She had no idea the affect of her words on me, but our relationship has improved so much since then. We're both careful to speak the truth in love with each other now.

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